


Sides of Love

by EvasiveWarrior (Emilightning)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Deceit is Dee i guess at least until he gets a name reveal, I guess this would qualify as songfic?, M/M, rent - Freeform, there's going to be a lot of references to both the musical and various SS videos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilightning/pseuds/EvasiveWarrior
Summary: The Sanders Sides in a RENT-based AU. Two pairs of unlikely lovers, a slimy ex-roommate-turned-landlord, and one young aspiring filmmaker at the center of it all.(I know the title sucks; still a working title for now. )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this concept's probably been done before, but I just really like it. I haven't written anything like this in a very long time. It might be a cringey idea, and I'm kind of hesitant to share any of this, but why not? 
> 
> Disclaimer: As you might know, RENT itself covers some very depressing topics, most notably the AIDS virus. But we're not going to go there for this story. Most of the themes from the musical will still be present, but for now, I want to keep it a little lighter.
> 
> I would also HIGHLY recommend listening to the original RENT cast recording before reading this, or at least watching the movie. It's not required, but I think you'll appreciate the story more that way. Plus, it's just a damn good musical. :)

December twenty-fourth, 9 PM, Eastern Standard Time.

Thomas wasn't sure whether or not he was happy that this was his first Christmas Eve in years where the temperature outside actually matched up with what the calendar would suggest. New York City, recently dusted in a blanket of fresh snow, seemed to exist in complete contrast to the overbearing humidity of Florida. It definitely felt more... right, more Christmas-y, with the bitterly cold air outside. But he had to admit that it certainly wasn't an ideal time to live in a dimly lit and barely heated studio apartment. 

_Oh well. It could be worse_ , he thought to himself. Then, after a brief moment of consideration:  _In fact, it probably will be worse_. 

It had been a topic that both he and Virgil, his roommate and best friend of several years, had expertly avoided talking about so far. Now, though, there was no beating around the bush: neither of them had the means to pay the month's rent. Or the past month's. Or... well, was it really worth trying to pin down exactly how many months they'd both been barely scraping by, too stubborn to admit that steady jobs in film production and music were just lacking lately?

Thomas had been keeping his fingers crossed that their landlord would at least have enough of a heart not to shut off the power before Christmas Day was over. It would have been easier to keep the hope up if he didn't know _exactly_ what kind of person Dee was. If he hadn't spent the majority of the past few years considering him to be a good friend-- only to be completely blindsided when the smug opportunist had slithered his way into the heart of a wealthy young man, married comfortably into an old-money family, and become the landlord of the apartment building he'd once lived in.

Still, though. Anybody _could_ grow a conscience, right? 

Virgil, on the other hand, didn't seem to be quite as hopeful about the situation-- but his protective layer of pessimism was nothing new, and it didn't bother Thomas nearly as much as it once had. In fact, it seemed to keep his own optimism from crossing the line into risky territory.

Ever since they'd moved to New York three years ago, it had become more and more clear that he couldn't afford to trust everyone. People were unpredictable. Even the ones who seemed to have the best hearts weren't immune to corruption. Things happened.

Almost every single day, he passed by dozens of people on the street who seemed to be overflowing with stories based around that idea. People who had clearly put their faith in the wrong friend, or lover, or company, or philosophy.

And that, he'd decided one day, was as good a place as any to start with his documentary.

***************************************

The sudden ringing of the phone startled Virgil out of his concentration. He looked up from his not-quite-tuned Fender guitar and frowned in Thomas's general direction, avoiding looking into the handheld camera that was pointed at him. "Can you get that?" he muttered, already knowing the answer.

Thomas lowered his camcorder and set it down on the table with a sigh, but that was mostly just to tease Virgil. It wasn't a big deal, really. Normally they'd both be more than happy to let the phone go to voicemail, but he had a feeling he knew who'd be on the other end.

"Hello?" he greeted expectantly.

And just as he'd anticipated, he was greeted in return by a very familiar and articulate-sounding voice. "Oh, please don't tell me you two forgot I was coming."

"Logan!" Thomas couldn't suppress a wide grin at the sound of his friend's mildly exasperated tone. "No, of course we didn't forget. We've literally just been sitting around waiting for you all day."

"Well, I  _hope_ that's not true, since you knew I wouldn't be here until tonight," Logan responded with a hint of amusement.

Virgil, overhearing the comment from his spot on the sofa, snorted. "You know neither of us have a life," he called out. 

The retort was met with a faint, staticky laugh from the other end of the line. "Fair enough. So are we going to just keep this up, or are you going to let me inside?"

Thomas's eyebrows shot up, pleasantly surprised. "You're outside already?" 

"Well, obviously. I'm at the payphone on the corner; just watch for me out the window and toss the key down." 

"Sure," Thomas agreed. "Just don't get lost on your way here."

There was a brief moment of silence on Logan's end. "Right, it's not as if I used to _live--_ " 

He seemed to cut himself off abruptly, and there was a muffled noise, followed by a couple-- two? three?-- unfamiliar voices in the background. Thomas couldn't make out what they were saying, but Logan responded with a simple "No. Sorry," before apparently removing his hand from the receiver. "Uh, listen, I need to go." 

"Okay... see you shortly, then?" Thomas asked.

Instead of a confirmation, however, all he heard from Logan was, "I... I may be detained." 

The line went dead with a click, and Virgil, who had been listening intently, frowned deeply. "What was that all about?" 

Thomas shook his head. "I have no idea. I guess we'll find out in a minute?" He didn't have a chance to step away from the phone before it rang again, and he snatched it up quickly. "What do you mean, 'detained'?"

He heard a slight pause. Then, "Well, Merry Christmas to you too." 

"Dee?"

"Shit," Virgil groaned. 

The smooth voice, tinged with just a hint of sarcasm as always, went on: "Listen, you know I  _hate_ to interrupt you two tonight..."

"Yeah, of course." Thomas couldn't keep a slight edge of bitterness out of his own voice. "But...?"

Dee picked up the cue with a singsong tone. "But I need the rent, boys." 

Virgil flashed his wide eyes at his roommate, gesturing to cut off the conversation. "Dude, hang up the phone," he hissed.

Thomas grimaced. If only it was that easy. "Uhh... what rent?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Virgil facepalming in response.

Unfortunately, Dee was unfazed. "The one I've been letting slide. Look, I've been trying to be nice, I've cut you guys some slack for the past few months."

"And we appreciate it," Thomas interjected quickly. "We're working on it, I promise."

"Just throw it out the window," Virgil muttered, pressing his face into a pillow.

"Oh, I know. Problem is, I don't make the rules," Dee said in his most landlord-esque voice. "Of course, I _do_ hate being the bad guy here, but the rent is due. Or I'll have to evict you. I'll give you guys tonight, and then I'm coming over there in the morning to collect." Before anything else could be said, he hung up the phone, leaving Thomas standing there with several half-formed comebacks in his mind.

Slowly, he replaced the receiver and plopped down into his beat-up armchair with a long sigh. Neither of them said anything.

Almost absentmindedly, Virgil once again began playing a few notes on his guitar. An impromptu, aggressive melody quickly formed, and his tension started to ease up slightly. He was warming up for a full-fledged vent song when the notes were suddenly cut off as the power went out.

"Aaaaand the power blows," Thomas observed aloud, finally shutting off the camera. 

***************************************

Outside, not fifty meters away from the building, Logan was growing intimately acquainted with the snow-littered sidewalk. The group of older men had long since bolted away with his coat and bag, but not before they'd made sure he couldn't chase after them. Not that he would have _tried_ to chase them down anyway, but he guessed that it wouldn't have made much of a difference to tell them so.

He didn't think anything was broken, but his ribs and jaw hurt like hell, and he could feel at least one source of blood trickling down his forehead from where he'd hit the ground. That was the worst part-- it made it next to impossible for him to sit up, let alone stand up. He was dizzy, and the wound was making his whole head throb. It was pounding, actually, like the beat of a drum. 

The beat could have been worse, though. Whoever was playing the drums had some real talent; it was like the player's heart itself was the beat. He lie there and listened to it, not knowing how many minutes had passed.

Twice, he tried again to drag himself up, but both times he wound up back on the pavement with a groan. After the second time, the pounding rhythm stopped suddenly. He almost felt disappointed. The music had been nice, kind of soothing. 

And then he was aware that he was no longer alone. A young man had cautiously approached him and was now standing over him, reaching a hand down. 

"Are you okay?" His voice was warm and gentle, full of obvious concern. 

It surprised Logan so much, this complete stranger appearing out of seemingly nowhere, that he almost forgot to answer the question. "Well... I suppose so," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone. 

The stranger smiled-- rather adorably, Logan couldn't help but think-- and knelt down to help him sit up. He was relieved to find he could actually stay vertical this time. 

"You must be cold," the kind young man observed after he'd checked Logan for any major damage.

"I had a coat," Logan explained, not wanting the other man to think he was foolish enough to walk around without one on a night as cold as this. "They-- whoever 'they' were-- they took it. Along with my bag. And they left me with, ah... this," he said, gesturing across his bruised body. 

Without hesitation, the stranger removed his own pale gray coat and held it out in offering. "Here." Before Logan could accept or protest, the coat was draped around his shoulders.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was having difficulty finding adequate words. "Oh, I'm-- I mean... thank you," he finally said. He looked at the stranger in front of him and took in the sight of his face.

Large, soft brown eyes behind a pair of glasses that somehow seemed to magnify them. Flushed cheeks, upturned mouth corners-- he had such an open and expressive face, it was hard not to smile just looking at him. 

"Of course," he said in response to the thanks. His hand still rested on Logan's shoulder, which both noticed at the same time. Neither moved away until the stranger slowly, almost reluctantly, stood up, and then helped Logan do the same. "I live just around the corner," he continued. "You should probably come bandage yourself up."

Maybe it was just his imagination-- of _course_ it was, that was all it could be-- but it seemed to Logan that the cold lifted from that spot where they stood together. It was warm, glowing, where just minutes before it had been so cold and rough and lonely. "That's very kind of you," he said, hoping the gratefulness was evident in his tone. And hoping equally as much that their hands would stay interlocked as they were currently.

The stranger's smile somehow grew even brighter. "Oh, and I'm Patton, by the way."

"Patton," Logan repeated, surprised to find that he, too, was smiling. And that, even through the sharp pain in his head, he was aware of his face growing warm and flushed. "I'm Logan."

***************************************

"All right, I'm gonna go see if he's out there," Thomas decided at last. 

Virgil shifted his position uncomfortably. As much as he was concerned about Logan's whereabouts, as much as he wanted to be a good friend, it had been a long time since he'd left their apartment for an extended period of time without an exact purpose, destination, and guarantee that he'd be back as soon as possible. Right now, the situation would offer none of those things. 

He hated that. He hated how useless it made him feel that he could barely handle something as simple as going outside. And he hated the way Thomas looked at him now, with obvious worry about leaving him behind-- and underneath, that tiny glimmer of hope that Virgil would join him after all. 

Not that it was Thomas's fault, of course. He was the best person Virgil had ever encountered when it came to dealing with his... setbacks. He understood-- at least,  as much as anybody could.

"Don't worry," Virgil told his friend, despite the fact that his own brain was already conjuring dozens of worst-case scenarios. "I'm sure he's okay. I mean, he's Logan."

That earned a grin from Thomas. "Yeah, you're probably right. I just want to ease both of our minds." He pulled his scarf a little tighter, and then he was out the door, leaving Virgil alone in the drafty, silent room.

The only light source was the glow of the city lights and the moon outside the large window. The moonlight was really bright, actually. Brighter than usual. He soon found himself caught up in it, staring outside at the dancing lights. As nice as it was to look at, it was too bad the artificial glow of New York obscured the view of the stars. 

_But not the moon_ , he thought, making a conscious effort to think of something positive about the whole situation. Before he had long to ponder it, though, there was a knock on the door.

He stepped away from the window. "Coming." It was probably Thomas, realizing he'd forgotten his key again. At least he'd never actually gotten locked out, though; Virgil's near-constant presence in the apartment made sure of that. _See? I'm useful for something after all._

A smirk sat on his face as he pulled the door open. "What'd you forget--?" he began, but cut himself off when he saw that it wasn't his roommate after all.

The man in the doorway wasn't a complete stranger-- at least, not by face. Virgil recognized him as the tenant who lived in the apartment below them. He vaguely recalled Thomas mentioning that the young man was a performer-- a stage actor, or a dancer, or something along those lines. 

That wasn't too hard to believe; the guy was handsome, with a posture that was clearly supposed to look casual but still appeared graceful, mischievous dark eyes, and a coy smile. "Do you have a lighter I could borrow?" 

The question took Virgil aback. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "I, um--" He glanced at the visitor's hands, which held a plain white, unlit candle. And although the man was radiating confidence, he couldn't seem to keep them from shaking in the cold. "You're shivering."

"Ah, it's nothing," the handsome candle-holder said with a shrug. "My heat got shut off yesterday. And my power. But hey, this thing is basically both, right?" He waved the candle playfully.

Virgil couldn't stop himself from smiling a little. He ducked his head into his thick black hoodie, trying to hide his interest. "Sorry, we don't have heat either." 

"I don't know, you look pretty warm to me."

The comment, accompanied by a wink, confirmed Virgil's impression: this guy was a major flirt. Definitely meant for the stage. And he was setting off several bells in Virgil's mind-- but they weren't all alarm bells, he had to admit. 

Against his better judgement, he conceded to open the door wide enough to let the charismatic semi-stranger inside. "You can come in if you want, but I mean... there's not much in here. You'd probably be happier alone." 

The other man raised his eyebrows, sticking his lower lip out slightly. "Aw, not really. It's no fun being alone. Especially on Christmas Eve." 

"All right, fair point," Virgil admitted. He stood there, his hands as deep in his pockets as they would go, and stared at nothing on the floor. After a moment of awkward silence (at least, he felt awkward; his visitor seemed perfectly comfortable) he decided to make himself useful. "Um, let me look for a lighter. I know there's one somewhere, but I have no idea where it is."

"Take your time, sunshine."

The offhanded way in which he said that tugged at something inside Virgil. "Did... did you just call me 'sunshine'?" 

"Yeah," was the shameless response. "It just slipped out. Why, would you prefer something else?"

Virgil was glad he was facing away from him as his face grew hot. "Nope. Definitely not." Then he backtracked. "Actually, wait, just call me by my actual name."

"And that would be...?"

"Virgil."

The other man grinned in a way that was hard to interpret. "Oh, I like that," he said. "Poetic."

"Yeah, I... whatever," Virgil muttered, relieved that at least he wasn't laughing. "And you are?"

"Roman. But you can call me whatever you like." Another wink. He was unbelievable. 

Virgil yanked open a kitchen drawer and fumbled around inside. "No lighter, but we have a couple matches," he said, choosing to ignore Roman's comment. "Here, catch." He tossed the box over, and to his mild disappointment, Roman caught it smoothly.

The candle was lit after a few tries. (His hands really were pretty shaky, Virgil noticed.) The soft, weak light it emitted was barely enough to see the ground, but Roman seemed satisfied. "Okay, I won't bug you anymore. I appreciate it though, really." The matchbox was tossed back over. 

"It's nothing," was all Virgil could reply. 

Roman opened the door, gave a little wave, and stepped out. Before the door could close, though, he turned back around. "You're really planning on spending Christmas Eve by yourself?"

Virgil shrugged. "I didn't say that..."

"Good," Roman responded with a satisfied smile. "I hope I'll see you later, then. You know where to find me."

And then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Virgil hadn't even gotten halfway back to the couch when the sound came again: a quick, sharp knock on the door. 

He turned back around to face the entrance, but hesitated. This boy, this Roman guy-- what exactly was he trying to do here? They'd never spoken before, and now suddenly he was coming to his door on Christmas Eve of all nights, rather than going out doing god-knew-what. The anxious, gnawing part of Virgil that never fully subsided even when he was alone, told him that Roman was probably messing with him. It would be best just to lock the door and go to bed. 

The dynamic, honey-like voice called out from the other side: "It went out again." 

Virgil reluctantly opened the door, facing the sheepish-looking Roman, who indeed held a candle that was no longer lit. "Oh."

"I'm sorry," Roman said. "I swear, I don't usually go around asking strangers to light my candles." 

For some reason, Virgil had to stifle a giggle when he said that. Biting back a smile, he gestured for the other boy to enter. "It's no big deal. And you're not exactly a stranger," he added as an afterthought. "I think I've seen you around before..."

"Well sure; I _do_ live here," Roman said with a teasing note in his voice. 

Virgil shook his head. "No, I mean... yeah, but I feel like I've seen you somewhere else." He glanced over at his guest, who was looking at him intently.

 _He really smiles a lot_ , Virgil thought. After a few seconds of eye contact, the dark-haired boy looked away self-consciously, pretending to busy himself with finding the box of matches, even though it was sitting right in front of him on the counter. "You can, um... sit down if you want." 

Roman did, somehow managing to gracefully plop down onto the sofa. "I've seen you around too," he confessed. "Not outside the building, though. You always looked busy, so I didn't want to bug you."

"Busy?" Virgil raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it; I haven't had a real job in awhile..." _Nice going, Virge; tell him all your shortcomings while you're at it_.

"Maybe just really deep in thought, then." Roman was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "You ever go down to Dragon's Den?"

Virgil had. Many times, in fact. The club had been a spot he used to frequent back when he was still playing gigs. He decided to avoid answering directly. "That's where you work?" 

"Yeah," Roman confirmed. "I dance." 

That was why he'd looked so familiar, then. "Oh, yeah-- right, they used to chain you up."

Of course, he responded without a hint of self-consciousness: "It's a living." 

Virgil allowed himself to crack a grin. "Maybe I just didn't recognize you without... all that." He remembered the show Roman had put on in the past-- a wild display involving fire and chainmail lingerie. It had been quite the spectacle. He couldn't help but wonder what it was like these days. 

"You must not have been down there in awhile then," Roman observed, as if reading his mind. "It's more burlesque these days. Less drama, more sex appeal." 

"Hmm. That's a shame." 

To his surprise, that made Roman burst out laughing. "Is it, now? Maybe you have good taste."

A blush crept up Virgil's face. He silently thanked whatever entity was out there that it was dark in the apartment. "Here, I'll light it." He took the candle from where it lay in Roman's outstretched hand, struck a match, and relit it. 

"Perfect," Roman beamed as it was handed back to him. "Thanks." 

Virgil nodded, pulling his patchwork hoodie further up so that he could duck even deeper into it. Their fingers had touched briefly during the candle exchange, and now his whole hand felt as if it was glowing red with heat. "Sure." He stood there, waiting for his guest to leave again now that he'd gotten what he came for. But of course it could never be that easy.

"So how come you haven't been to the Den in a hot minute? Sounds like you were more than a one-time spectator." There was nothing in Roman's voice but genuine curiosity, but Virgil felt mocked and somehow invaded. 

"Just because I'm not coming to see _you_ doesn't mean I stopped going altogether," he said in what he hoped was an appropriately surly way.

To his annoyance, Roman only smiled. "All right, you got me there. So which is it then-- were you avoiding me at all costs, or did you leave the whole club scene?" His eyes were locked on Virgil's, searching for an answer he wasn't going to get. Not tonight, anyway. "Either way, I'd say you made a good call." 

"Either way, that's for me to know." 

"And me to find out?" Roman's eyes sparkled.

Virgil forced himself to keep his nerve. "Sure. Keep dreaming." This cheeky banter was getting him nowhere, and it bugged him that someone like _this_ would approach him in the first place, let alone pursue a conversation. He sighed and leaned back against the rough brick wall, shutting his eyes for a second. It would be fine. There was nothing wrong with talking to someone new; it wasn't going to kill him. 

Then Roman spoke up again, more quiet and subdued this time. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you might be lonely here, that's all. I didn't mean to pry like that." 

That earned him a surprised glance from Virgil. "Oh." He scratched his messy hair, which had been tinted with violet at the ends. "No, don't worry about it. You're... I mean, I'm just..." He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to appear normal. "Don't worry. You're good."

"Good." Roman placed his hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave for the second time. "Well, I hope we can-- goddammit." The candle had extinguished itself yet again. He glanced over apologetically. "You wouldn't happen to..."

Virgil shook his head. "That was my last match." 

This time, it was Roman who sighed. "Shit. I'm sorry." And he did look sorry, biting his lower lip and looking up at Virgil with big brown eyes that had a sad shine in the white moonlight. 

"It's fine," Virgil said, and found that he meant it. "Good thing the moon's so bright tonight."

The other boy's smile returned, lighting up his face more than any candle could. "You're right."

****************************************

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so much shorter. The way I work is very sporadic and hard to predict, so I can either post shorter, more frequent updates or longer updates that will take up to like a week. And I don't want to keep people (or myself tbh) waiting that long.


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